


Rosalie

by prisonerof221B



Category: Tom Hiddleston - Fandom
Genre: F/F, F/M, Father-Daughter Relationship, Original Character(s)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-10-26
Updated: 2013-10-27
Packaged: 2017-12-30 13:32:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 910
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1019217
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prisonerof221B/pseuds/prisonerof221B
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tom's finds his wife dead without a reason left behind. He's left with her belongings, their two month old daughter, and little sanity to hold onto.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rosalie

Her lips are are a pale. As is her face. It is drained of her blood, the color appearing dark at her fingertips and ears. Tom's shaking already. Perhaps it's a joke. It is close to April, after all. It was all Tom could keep in his head, was the hope that his beloved was playing a cruel joke on him. He reached out and touched the freezing skin. Just a skin of his fingers against her ankle. A strangled noise leaves his throat, and the blue flowers drop from his hand. It's the only sound other than the screaming child just a room away.

Taking in the sight of her hurts. She no longer looks like herself. Her cold fingers outstretch for an empty bottle of pills. Her dark hair spreads around her and wraps around her throat. Her blue dress looks so cold and painful against the pale body that he can't breathe. He sinks down on the floor and puts his hands behind his head. This isn't real. He's going to wake up and she will be there next to him. She'll get the baby and they will all lie in bed together to reassure Tom that his wife is alive.

Thomas William Hiddleston is not a widower. He cannot be a widower. They have a child together. But he looks up to the bed again and the shell of a human life is still there. Her life now meant nothing. She tried to erase herself, but she could not help the fact that her embodiment would not follow her. Tom took a shuddering breath and tried to pull himself up. He grabbed the nightstand, knocking the clock off from its perch. An unfolded slip of paper sat, the pen still sitting upon the group of words.

He doesn't want to read it. He can tell it's her handwriting. It's small and loopy, each word running into each other like rain drops on a window. But his shaking fingers grasp the page, wrinkling it in the process. Tears blur his vision as the words face him. They yell at him. They whisper. They scream. They point fingers directly towards him. They wrap around his tongue and it swells, closing off his throat. They drown out the cry of a needy child.

_Give every spare minute you have to her. She is the most important thing in your life now. Treat her as such._

_I will always love you._

_Mae_

But what about her? What about Mae? She gave no reason. He saw no signs. It was his blindness that had killed her. His thoughts became to rushed and he could no longer think. He dropped the note, and with shaking hands pulled his phone out of his pocket. He can hardly dial 999. As simple as it is, he presses call and drops the phone to the floor. He doesn't need to speak. They will find him. He curls up on the wooden floors and waits. He should get up and tend their child. He should get up and wait for the paramedics. 

But all he can do is know that his wife was alone when she died. She was scared and he wasn't there to help her. Had she kissed their two month old child goodbye? She had not said goodbye to Tom. She had said she loved him. Had she been afraid to say goodbye to him? He shook and wrapped his arms around himself.

When the paramedics arrived they kept asking him questions. A few were taking care of the body on the bed. It felt so criminal for them to be taking her away. But it didn't even feel like it was her anymore. He wasn't sure what to think at all. He managed to let them get him up. They took him to the baby's room. There was a man taking care of their child. His child. The crying had ceased, and muffled words told him that he was in shock.

They were right. He was in shock. To come home from filming, worrying about the two all day long. He had gotten the blue flowers to apologize. I'm sorry I'm late home all the time. I'm sorry I'm so tired. I'm sorry we don't spend enough time together. Blue. Blue, the color of her eyes and dress. Blue, the color of love, desire, and now, a heart shattering depression.

Somebody had his phone in their hand. Other voices told that person to take him to the hospital. But the gentle voice told him that was not what a widower with a child needed. They called somebody. They could have been calling anybody, yet he didn't at all care. He couldn't care. He just wanted to curl up into the bed next to where his love had died and lose himself. 

Time stretched into one long murmur of voices. His vision only cleared once a blond man crouched in front of him, his larges hands holding Tom's shoulders as if he was a doll. He spoke quiet words as the paramedics put his child back into the crib and left. Tom didn't know what he was supposed to do. Was he supposed to crumble like china in the man's arms? Was he supposed to cry? He just felt a crushing empty feeling that refused to go away. He ended up in his friend's arms, a broken man with a fear of loss.


End file.
